


Res gestae

by pjordha



Category: Rome
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjordha/pseuds/pjordha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After "De Patre Vostro (About Your Father)," Pullo leaves Rome for a new life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Res gestae

            “About your father…”

            “Yes, tell me more exciting facts about my father!” Caesarion chirped up at Pullo as they darted through the crowded streets of Rome.  “Tell me!”

            “Uh, well.”  Pullo led the child expertly through the city’s narrow streets, eyes darting around from time to time to see if they were being followed.  He was fairly certain that Octavian Caesar had believed the lie, but it was always best to be safe, just in case.  “There’s something you should know about your father.”

            “Are you going to tell me about how strong he was?  How like the god Set he destroyed his enemies, how like Osiris he gave life to his people, and like the 6 headed serpent god—”

            “Cack!” Pullo laughed, picking the boy up in one hand and covering the still sputtering mouth with the other as he slipped down a hidden road.  “What have I told you about going on about that Gyppo nonsense?”

            Caesarion grumbled, “Mmpgghh mmmerrphh!” and fidgeted until he was placed under Pullo's arm like a package.

            “I know, I know, boy.  But it’s for your own safety.  Besides, you’re a Roman now, so you’ll act like one.”  Pullo smiled at the boy’s rolling eyes and flailing arms.  “You sure are a feisty one.”

            “Mpphh thffjhht mmpthth fmmmth!”

            “Oh really?”  Pullo’s smile faded, but his eyes twinkled.  “What else did Vorenus say about ‘your father’?”

 

            As the sun went down and Rome faded into the distance behind them, Titus Pullo steered the first wagon he’d ever bought and not stolen.  With Caesarion sleeping in the back amidst a large pile of clothes, pots, grain, and lots of weapons, Pullo’s thoughts turned to the oath he’d made a friend just a week earlier.

            _You must promise to take my children and leave Rome._

            Pullo took one last lingering look at the city he’d called home nearly his entire life, and then cracked the whip in the direction of a new one.

 

            It was early morning when the wagon pulled up in front of a homey vine-covered country house.  The wheels hadn’t fully stopped before Lucius came running out like a madman.

            “What did you bring us?” yelped the boy, arms outstretched already.  Pullo merely laughed as he jumped down from the wagon after securing the horses.

            “Yes, we had a safe trip, thank you for asking!  Here,” Pullo sighed, tossing the boy a sack of peaches.  “Don’t eat those all at once!”  He shook his head at the boy’s quick retreat and helped Caesarion down from the wagon.  “Shall we start unloading this cart now?”

            Caesarion recoiled.  “I do not do manual labor!  I am a prince!  My feet shouldn’t even be touching the ground!  I’ve never—oh!”  Pullo turned to see what caught his son’s tongue in his throat—Vorena the Elder.

            “Welcome back,” she offered, then followed it with a kiss to Pullo’s cheeks.  “Everything went alright, then?”

            Pullo replied, “Smooth as the bottom of Voluptus.”  Caesarion giggled and shrank a little behind his guardian.

            “Hello, Caesarion.  Are you well?”  The boy blushed and said nothing.  “Is he alright?”

            “He’s just tired, I’m sure.  And hungry.”  Pullo wanted to laugh at the young, arrogant prince’s behavior, but he remembered what it was like to be a boy.  He wondered if anyone in Egypt had informed his son about the facts of life yet, and then realized if anyone had, it had probably been—

            “Come on, then!  We’ve just prepared a large meal and I don’t want it going cold!”  She grabbed Caesarion by the hand and led him toward the house.  “Lyde has made some cereal with honey, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked the boy before throwing Pullo a knowing wink over her shoulder.

            “I’ll be right in,” Pullo called after the young woman.  He paused to look at the comfortable land and cottage that came from his reward for going after “Caesar’s son.”  The earth was dark and would give them enough to eat and trade.  In the distance the slaves they’d procured tended to some cattle and goats and sheep.  Domestic life was going to be a big change for Pullo…and for his family.

 

            “Sit down and eat properly!” laughed Lyde as Pullo heaped a ton of food onto a plate.  “You must be starving after your trip.”

            “Yes, of course.  I’ll just…you know.”  Pullo pointed toward the back of the house and Lyde nodded.

            “Very well.  When you’re done there’s some chores outside that need doing.”

            “Yes, my lady!” Pullo saluted the children’s aunt and carried his heaping plate out from the common area, past the as-yet-unpacked crates and satchels, down toward the largest, most private room in the back of the cottage.  He sighed and pushed on the curtain.  The bed was made and looked completely untouched.  The room was dark and the air was stale.

            “It’s a sad room, this is,” Pullo said out loud as he went to sit on the bed.  “A waste of a comfortable bed, if no one is using it.”  He took a bite of his breakfast and looked toward the draped window.  “Depresses me just being in here.”

            A large stick landed with a heavy thud next to Pullo on the bed.  The meat Pullo was lifting toward his mouth was snapped away, and an irritated voice grunted, “Then by all means, take your leave now, Titus Pullo, and leave the dead to our breakfast!”

            Pullo’s eyes nearly disappeared into his head.  “You look quite well for a dead man!”

            “Well, what else is a man supposed to do in the country but rest and eat?”

            “I expected to find you in that bed, moaning and complaining like you did the entire trip from Rome.”

            “I’ve had enough of resting.  I need to walk and get my strength back.  We have acres to sow and livestock to tend to and children to look after, have we not?”

            “That we have,” Pullo murmured as he watched Lucius Vorenus ease himself onto the bed.  “That we have, indeed.”

 

 

            “You think Octavian believed you?”

            “Of course,” Pullo replied as he and Vorenus picked the last bits of food from the plate balancing on their touching legs.  “I told him I killed the boy and that you were dead and that was that.”

            “And you had no trouble leaving Rome?” Vorenus questioned.

            “No trouble at all.”

            Vorenus handed the plate to Pullo and wiped crumbs from his hands onto the dirt floor.  “Good.  I was beginning to think you’d been caught.  You should have returned 4 days ago.  I’ve been stuck in this house with noisy women and children, and the mornings this place reeks of sheep cack, and in the evenings it’s so quiet that I can barely get to sleep, and—

            “So you missed me, then?” Pullo asked.

            “Well…uh…the children.  I can’t run after them just as yet, so…I suppose…perhaps.”  Pullo smiled at Vorenus’ reluctant admission.  “So…did you bring me anything?”

 

            The wound in Vorenus’ torso had healed considerably in the many weeks since they’d arrived at the Macedonian cottage.  It still caused him much pain when he walked, and it still required tending to every day with a strange smelling salve, but it was definitely looking better.

            “I told you,” Vorenus grumbled as Pullo smoothed his fingers over the injury that had nearly killed him.

            “I know, brother.  We all thought Viduus had taken you.”  Pullo gently smoothed Vorenus’ tunic back into place and then went back to helping his friend walk around the small room.  “The gods are with you, brother.  You should have been dead long ago.”

            “And leave you this entire estate to run all alone?  You wouldn’t last a year without me in this place.  You haven’t the patience for pastoral living,” Vorenus stated definitively as he limped along, one hand on a heavy stick, the other around Pullo’s neck.

            “Is that so?” laughed Pullo.

            “Yes.  In fact—”

            “There you are!”  Pullo and Vorenus turned to find Caesarion and Vorena the Younger fidgeting in the doorway.  Caesarion held a shoe out by its broken strap.  “I require one of you to mend my footwear.  And then I require one of you to come outside and practice catching a round disc with me.”  He looked on as Pullo helped Vorenus sit down on the bed.  “Vorenus, are you well enough yet to throw with me?”

            “No, he’s not.  And you shall learn to fix your shoe yourself,” Pullo grunted under Vorenus’ weight.

            “This is unacceptable!  If someone can not correct it, I shall require a new pair of—”

            “You’ll learn to fix your shoe, just like you’ll learn to do many things around here, Caes— _Aeneas_ ,” Vorenus stated emphatically.  A week ago the young prince would have stomped his feet in frustration.  This time, with both Pullo and Vorenus staring him down, he simply sighed and threw his hands up in defeat.  Vorena the Younger giggled quietly.

            “She’s laughing at me!”

            “Juno’s teat, you’re a sensitive one!” Pullo roared.

            Caesarion countered with, “In my country, it was forbidden for a woman to laugh at royalty!”

            “Well, you’re not royalty anymore, and we shall all be laughing at you plenty from here on out!”

            “All right, enough,” Vorenus bellowed.  “Boy, take your shoe out to Lyde to show you how to fix.  And then go take your cousin Lucius out and throw the ball with him.”

            “Very well.  But I refuse to have anything to do with those smelly sheep!”  The boy ran from the room, leaving Vorena the Younger to stare with wide eyes at her father and Pullo sitting on the bed.  Vorenus beckoned her over with his smile and a loving hand.  She moved cautiously, and then rushed to Pullo’s side.

            “Lucius pulled my hair,” she murmured.  Pullo looked at the undone, mangled braid down the back of the girl’s head.

            “I see he did.  We can fix that,” Pullo said, and then turned her between his legs facing away from him.  He loosened the ribbon in her hair and combed out the old ponytail with his long fingers.  Vorenus watched with both awe and envy as Pullo deftly gathered his daughter’s hair up and started braiding it.

            “I never knew fixing women’s hair was one of your talents, Titus Pullo,” Vorenus chuckled.

            “I have many talents, Lucius Vorenus.  Some you have yet to learn.”  They shared a mischievous grin and then Pullo went back to the girl.  In no time he had a tight, neat braid.  “It’s nothing at all.  Next time your father will do it, yes?”

            Vorena the Younger turned and looked into her father’s eyes.  A shy smile ghosted on her face before she nodded, and murmured, “Yes, Father.”  When Vorenus smiled back, the girl leaned in to give her father a quick kiss on the cheek.

            “Do I get one, as well?”

            “Yes!”  The girl gave Pullo a quick buss on the cheek, squeaked, “Thank you, Uncle Pullo,” and then skipped quickly out of the room.

            “It was nearly a month ago when she wouldn’t even look at me,” Vorenus sighed.

            “She loves you.  All your children do.”

            “They love you, too,” Vorenus murmured, looking at his friend squarely.  “You were with them when I wasn’t.  You were father to them when I couldn’t be.  You cared for them, fed them…braided their hair!” he chuckled.  “Imagine if the men on the Aventine knew that!”

            “Say what you want, but braiding keeps the fingers nimble,” Pullo asserted.  “Makes for more skillful swordplay!”

            Vorenus finished laughing and then placed a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “Seriously.  You have been wonderful to my children.  I owe you a great debt for that…for many things.”

            “No more than the debt I owe you for looking after my son all those years in Egypt,” Pullo replied.  They shared a soft smile before breaking it to look outside at Caesarion and Lucius chasing each other in the distance.

            “Did you tell him?”

            Pullo shrugged.  “Almost.  Too many people around on the road from Rome.  Soon.”  Pullo stretched out on the bed and sighed up at the ceiling.  “I guess I don’t want to dash the boy’s dreams.  He’ll be pretty disappointed to find out that his father wasn’t the leader of Rome, but just a soldier, son of a slave.  The boy might never speak to me after that.”

            “He’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”  Vorenus slowly laid himself back on the bed next to his friend.  “It may take some time, but he will understand, and then he’ll come to love and respect you as his father.”

            “You think so?”

            “I know so.  He’s quite a reasonable boy,” Vorenus stated.

            “Thanks to you, eh?  He really looks up to you,” Pullo said as he looked at his friend’s profile.  “You’ve been a great role model to him.  Thanks.”

            Vorenus smiled but didn’t say anything until a while later, when he asked, “I can never return to Rome, can I?”

            “You don’t know that.  Maybe we can sneak you back in one day, put you in a disguise.  You could grow a beard!”

            Vorenus laughed.  “A beard?  You must be joking!”

            “Yes, a long, red beard!”

            “I’d look hideous!”

            “Nonsense.  You’d still be handsome.”  Pullo smiled as Vorenus went a deeper shade of red than normal.  “Well, I mean, the ladies think you’re handsome, don’t they?  I mean, so they say.  Lyde thinks so!”

            “Indeed.”  Vorenus fidgeted on the bed, his eyes averted from his friend’s intense gaze.

            “You’re almost at full strength.  Before long, you’ll be ready to go out and find yourself some sweet, young local Macedonian cunny.”

            “No,” Vorenus chortled.  “Not very likely.”

            Pullo rolled onto his side and leaned on an elbow, resting his head in his hand as he regarded his friend.  “Surely you bedded women while you were in Alexandria.”

            “Of course, but…they weren’t Roman women.  It wasn’t the same.  Underneath those heavy wigs, they were all as bald as…”  Vorenus looked up at Pullo’s head and cleared his throat.  “Ah, anyway.  What about you?  Do you think you’ll take one of these local girls for another wife?”

            “Gods, no.  I think I’m done with women for a long while.”

            “Me, too.  I’ve got too much right now to worry about.  Besides,” Vorenus murmured, looking over at the likeness of his wife that Pullo had returned to him, “I shall never find another like Niobe.”

            “I know what you mean,” Pullo admitted.  “She was a fine woman.”

            Vorenus sat up, leaning on his side to face Pullo.  “As was Eirene.  A mighty fine woman.”

            “Well, uh, Niobe, she gave you healthy children, loved you, and took care of you.”

            “And Eirene gave you her kindness, her warmth, her forgiveness…she was taken far too soon.”

            Pullo sighed, “She was too good for me, you know.”

            Vorenus hummed in agreement.  “I never appreciated my wife as well as I should have.  Sometimes I…I don’t think I shall ever have love again, brother.  I don’t suppose Cupid would allow it.”

            “Don’t say that, brother.”  Pullo laid a hand on Vorenus’ forlorn face.  “You had a great love, Vorenus.  She was given to you because you deserved it.  You’ll have that again, because you _still_ deserve it.”  Vorenus raised a bashful eyebrow.

            “How do you know that?”

            A sweet smile covered Pullo’s face.  “Because I know you.”

            “I know _you_.”  Vorenus grabbed the neck of Pullo’s tunic in his fist and pulled gently, getting his friend’s attention.  “You, Titus Pullo, are the most…stubborn, reckless, improper, and vulgar man I’ve ever known.  And I don’t doubt for one second that my life would have never gone down this tragic path if I hadn’t rescued you from certain death to go find that damned golden standard!”  Before Pullo could reply, Vorenus’ voice softened, and he added, “You are also the most…loyal, brave, generous and…loving…man I’ve ever known.”  He paused, his hand clutching Pullo’s jaw, and then said, “Niobe is gone, and Pluto will never let me have her back.  She gave me immeasurable love, but…she was not the only one.”

            “Sh-she wasn’t, eh?”

            “My children…my life…if you hadn’t…”  Vorenus struggled with his words, as he often did when emotion threatened to break his stern countenance.  “I can’t begin to comprehend what you’ve done for us…for me.  I’ve never thanked you—”

            “You needn’t,” Pullo whispered. 

            Quiet determination covered Vorenus’ face, and then he leaned forward.  “I need,” he whispered before kissing Pullo on both cheeks, like they’d done right before Vorenus fled to Egypt.  He whispered it again, and then tilted his head to gently brush his lips against Pullo’s.  A sudden intake of breath startled Vorenus back.  “Forgive—”

            “—me.”  Pullo captured his friend’s lips in a kiss that started out clumsy and shy, but grew more deft and demanding with each second.  Their hands clamored for purchase on chins and in short hair, then on necks and broad shoulders.  Pullo, in an effort to bring Vorenus—his chest, his arms, his breath, his torso, his body—closer, accidentally pressed into Vorenus’ wound.  Vorenus gasped, breaking the kiss, and they both finally remembered to breathe.  Though their eyes remained closed, they held each other tightly as their breathing returned to normal.  After several minutes of silence, Pullo cleared his throat.

            “Well.  I, uh…I didn’t know if…well, if you felt…”

            Vorenus bristled in Pullo’s arms.  “Felt what?”

            “Th-this.”

            Vorenus ran a hand up and down Pullo’s side and rubbed his face in the crook of Pullo’s neck.  “What is this?” he whispered.  “You’ve given me something, Pullo.  I know not what to call it.”

            “I know what you’ve given me.”  Pullo’s hands on Vorenus’ back started to sweat when he stated, “A family.”  He waited, but Vorenus didn’t give an answer, an assent, a blessing.  Pullo sniffed hard and slid out of Vorenus’ arms.  He rolled off the bed, quickly stood up, and started looking around the room nervously.  “Anyway, it’s getting late, and there are, well, the cart still has to be unloaded and Lyde tells me there’s a problem with the stable door, so—”

            “Pullo,” Vorenus grumbled as he struggled to sit up straight.

            “There’s water to be collected from the well, and I’ve got to go fetch some firewood, and—”

            “Would you stop running your mouth for one second?” Vorenus groaned peevishly.

            Now at the doorway, Pullo finally stopped long enough to turn around, look Vorenus in the eye, and say, “Well, I can’t stop, can I?  There’s lots of things ‘round here that need tending to.”

            “Pullo!”  Vorenus scooted down to the end of the bed.  With legs wide and feet firmly planted on the ground, Vorenus leaned forward, resting elbows on his thighs and hungry eyes on Pullo.  He resembled a red lion about to pounce, and Pullo shuddered from both fear and anticipation.  Vorenus’ fingers slowly rubbed at a spot of skin on his inner thigh.  Pullo’s gaze followed those fingers with nervous fascination, as if they were some sort of suggestion…or invitation.

            “I, uh, I’ve got to—”

            “Stay,” Vorenus growled.  “There are things that need tending to.  Right here.”  Pullo waited until the stern look on his friend’s face turned into a welcoming grin.  Then he pulled the heavy curtain, blocking off the rest of the house from the room.  Their room.  “The rest of our family can wait.”

            “Yes,” Pullo murmured, and took a step closer toward his future.  “They can.”

 

© April 17, 2007 by Pjordha

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted April 17, 2007


End file.
